Numbers to count, Time to wait
by HiddenStorys
Summary: "There is no if for you. You were always the most realistic one, the smart one, but this fails to make sense so you refuse to let the word if enter your thoughts, and you focus on the much better alternative when." Can generally be read for any couple combination, even though I had Sparia in mind when writing it. Hope you enjoy.


**Numbers of Waiting**

As you sit in the old rusty hospital chair, you catch yourself looking at the paneled ceiling, your mind already working, as you silently count each panel of it for the twentieth time. You reach the number of 68 and your eyes begin to squint from the bright lights you are looking into. You close them for 2 seconds, welcoming the darkness; and the silence – that is if you do not count the constant beeping of that monitor right next to you. But you have gotten used to it so long ago that you just forget about it, not really hearing it anymore. Still, you know it's there and it's the only thing that gives you a glimpse of hope that things will be somewhat okay again.

It's getting late - you can tell because the voices in the hospital hallways fade and your eyes feel heavy - you couldn't tell from the light though as there isn't even a window in the room.

You're thinking of going home and taking a bath before trying to catch at least a few hours of sleep, but it's one of those days that you just can't bring yourself to move. Sometimes – like today – it feels like you're rooted to the seat, not able to leave the room. You call in a nurse, to tell her you are staying the night and she half smiles and half sighs and then nods. She knows you by now, and so it's no surprise that she brings you a pillow and a soft blanket so that the rusty chair can be your bed for the night. Before you close your eyes you grab the warm small hand resting on the hospital bed and kiss it 3 times, whispering a soft "Good night" and an even softer "I love you". It's tradition. You try not get emotional and you pray to God – even though you've never believed there was one – that tomorrow will be the day. The day when those sparkling eyes open and you can finally breathe again.

As the next day starts, you realize it's not going to be _that_ day. But you are grateful that both of you are still there and you make a mental note that 11 days are way too long for a person to wake up from a coma caused by trauma, and you try not to think of all the medical articles and blog posts you have read in your life about brain surgery and brain swelling because what you read in between those lines sounded anything but promising. The rational part of you wants you to accept but there is a much bigger part of you that can't bring yourself to even think of pulling the love of your life off of life support. The doctors are still giving you the smallest hint of hope and that's what you cling to, that's what makes you believe the swelling in your lover's brain will slowly fade and you will be able to look into those eyes again. You know today is not the day, but you can't bring yourself to stop believing it will be tomorrow.

"You have to get out of here. At least for half the day.", your friends try the next day and you know they only care about you. You would probably say those exact words, too. Still, it seems like the hardest thing you have had to do in forever. Finally, after 9 minutes and rounds and rounds of discussing and convincing, you agree to go home and shower, to take a nap in your own bed and to eat something other than the hospital menu you've had for the past 12 days. Your friends promise they will take turns to sit in the old rusty chair for you and it eases the pain that you feel once you step out of the glassed hospital doors. You breathe in the fresh air and even though you wish to be in that old rusty chair again, the scent of it relaxes you for the tiniest second.

13 days. You wonder if you should stop counting. Your gut feeling gets worth with every passing hour, the people around you are silently accepting the grief to come and even though they wouldn't let you hear, you know they are talking about a certain _what if_ situation and what arrangements are to be planned in that case. There is no _if_ for you. You were always the most realistic one, the smart one, but this fails to make sense so you refuse to let the word _if_ enter your thoughts, and you focus on the much better alternative _when. When_ the day comes _. When_ it's finally over. _When_ you can finally breathe again and start living again. _When_ couldn't come soon enough.

People say you are never ready for the big things that happen in your life. That you cannot plan what is to come. You've always planned. And you can't think of something that you weren't ready for. Even falling in love was not surprising to you. It was as if you've always known who you were going to spend the rest of your life with. You have planned your career since you could barely talk and you knew what kind of car you would get before you got your driver's license.

Everything in your life has been organized, planned, reviewed.

It is save to say that spending the last 14 days in a hospital chair however, was far from that.

You wish you knew how to handle this, how to bring order into this chaos that has become your life. You wish you knew how to stop the world from spinning, but everything goes back to the warm hand you hold in your hand and how the pieces would only fall back into place, _when_ the hand would finally squeeze back.

It's day 16 when you drop the phone and it crashes to the wooden floor of your living room. Your body begins to shake in a way it never has before and you subconsciously try to calm yourself down before going into a seizure. Your breathing is rapid and your trembling knees give up, making you slump down onto the floor, your fingers reaching for the dropped device. You listen to the speaker on the line as tears run down your face, but you can't register the words. For you everything is silent, and you can't help but realize that the world has finally stopped spinning.

You rush into the crowded hospital, not looking where you're going and you ignore the angry glares and cursing words as you run to room number 210. You don't even think twice before opening the door and it's only when you see one of your friends sitting in that old rusty chair, clutching the hand on the hospital bed that you allow yourself to catch the most beautiful eyes you've ever looked into.

There is a doctor and a nurse present, probably checking vitals and muscle function, but all you see is _her._ Finally, you take a step forward. Your friend removes the hand she was holding and you see tears streaming down her face, as she gives you a warm smile. You want to return it, but something holds you back so you only nod. You know it's because she was there the moment _your_ girlfriend woke up from a coma and you weren't. And you know you shouldn't feel jealous, because seeing _her_ breathe on her own is pure magic but you can't help but feel a little disappointed that yours weren't the first eyes she had looked into. However, as you see her eyes searching yours, everything is forgotten and you rush to her side. You've never been more alive than in this moment looking into her eyes, and your hands find their way to each other without breaking eye contact. It's then when you notice, how tired she looks, the bruises have almost faded, her left leg still resting in a cast, and you let out a half cry-half laugh as you clutch her hand and sobs begin to leave your body.

"I love you.", you hear her raspy voice say and it's the most amazing sound you've ever heard.

"I love you, too.", you reply as you sit on the old rusty chair and it's then that you can finally stop counting.

 **A/N: Hope you liked the one am drabble. Even though you could basically imagine any couple in this one shot, it is intended to be Sparia. But I guess it works for other couples as well. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the One Shot.**

 **And I will update Aftermaths soon, I promise, I just need some to find some more time. Until then, take care and review.**


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